Scars
by jeveuxlire
Summary: Late one night Harry and Hermione have a conversation about love, life and healing.


_Scars_

A soft breeze blew in from the half open window and the stars were twinkling on a background of black velvet sky. The silver moon shone gently on the sleeping village and softly illuminated the room.

All was quiet, save for the soft murmur of a dreamer deep in sleep. She had never seen him look so peaceful. His features were relaxed, his lips slightly parted, even his usually disheveled hair seemed to be at rest as it lay against the pillow.

As Hermione watched, he smiled slightly, snuggled closer to his pillow and sighed deeply. She too had been sleeping soundly, but was awakened by his warm breath on her cheek. She never ceased to marvel at the wonder of it all; the two of them, in love, enjoying each other's company without fear of death or harm. She had never felt so at peace as she did in his arms. She felt her soul complete itself.

They had been friends for so long, but both had grown up too quickly into a harsh world; especially Harry. A life of conflict was etched onto his body in scars. Everyone was familiar with the lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead, but he had many more.

Her arm left the warmth of her blankets and her finger reached towards the scar on his forearm. She wished she could kiss away every one of his scars and help him to forget the darkness in his past.

"What are you doing?" he whispered hoarsely, opening one eye.

"I am just taking you in," she replied softly.

"Can't sleep?"

"Seems like a waste of time spent so close to you," she shrugged.

After a moment's silence he asked, in a serious tone, "They appall you don't they?"

"Doesn't _what _appall me?"

"My scars," he whispered.

"Oh, darling, no! I was just thinking you grew up too fast and I wish I could kiss them all away." Harry seemed unconvinced, so she continued, "I want to know you, know all of you, and I am so happy to spend the rest of my life with you."

He looked closely at the crook in his arm and fingered the long, jagged scar. "Wormtail gave me that one," he said bitterly. His fingers ran up to his shoulder, "This round one here, is thanks to Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries."

He made a tight fist and huffed in disgust. "At least Umbridge was original with the scar she gave me." _I can not tell lies,_ was still engraved in white on his fist.

Hermione shuddered at the thought of that horrible woman. She gently put her hand on his chest, "And this one?" she asked.

"Quidditch practice, third year," he grinned. "I still got the Snitch though."

"You boys and your Quidditch," she sighed. However, she couldn't help but smile at the twinkle in his eyes.

She slowly walked her fingers up to his chin. There was a small scar under his chin that she hadn't noticed before.

"Dudley and his gang were chasing me; I tripped," he answered, before she could even formulate the question. "If I keep this up, soon I will look like Old Mad Eye."

"You have a long way to go my dear," she laughed quietly at the thought of Harry with a magical eye like that of the gnarly old Auror. She looked into his eyes and noticed another small scar running through his eyebrow. "What about that one?" she asked.

"Oh, what? That one? I er… that is, Ron and I had a spat one day. No big deal."

"No big deal, but he gave you a scar?" she asked. "What did you two fight about?"

Harry said nothing at first, but the look in her eyes told him she was not going to give up that easily. He sighed, "We were… we were fighting about you, Mione."

She stared at him in shock. He had never mentioned that he and Ron had fought over her.

"Really? About me?"

"Yeah," said Harry, the last vestiges of sleep disappearing from his voice.

"How come you never told me?" she wondered.

"I don't know." Harry's voice was hesitant in the darkness.

"How romantic," said Hermione.

"Well, I am glad you think so, but you weren't the one who had to go to Madam Pomfrey for it."

"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't think of it that way."

Harry paused and when he spoke again, his voice had changed and was full of emotion. "Of all my scars, that one was the most worthwhile," he said, his voice low and husky.

"That's not true Harry, your mother's protection is what saved you from death and instead left you with nothing but that scar. And your love of flying and Quidditch gave you that other one," she said as she touched his chest. "You cared enough about your friends that you went up against Voldemort and that's what always made you different from him, what helped you to defeat him."

Hermione had been thinking about that dark time in their lives, they preferred to put their energies into focusing on their future, their careers, the happy times that Hermione was afraid Harry would never get enough of to make up for the pain in his past.

One day she had been reading a novel about a woman who could tell stories and found the man she loved. This man had a difficult past with many painful memories. One day, he asked her for a story to replace the bad memories that made up his past. She weaved a story for him that in the end she realized was her own. She gave him her own past so that he wouldn't turn into a handful of dust like others who lack good memories. Their past and their futures were forever intertwined.

Hermione had read that novel twice thinking all the while of Harry and the day that she had seen him stumble out of the fog of his past after his last and final encounter with Voldemort. He had stumbled out of those times barely hanging on to his own soul for fear of leaving it behind in that horrible place that was his past and his link to Voldemort.

Next to her, Harry sighed deeply. Just when Hermione had begun to think that he had fallen asleep and hadn't heard her, he asked, "How do you do that?"

Puzzled, Hermione propped herself up on the one elbow and tried to decipher the lines of his face and separate them from the shadows of the room. "Do what?"

"You always know just what to say to me, Mione. The rest of the world averts their eyes, look away from my scars, like I wish I could. But you, you make me look at them; you make me see them for what they are."

"And what are they, Harry?"

"Reminders that my past is real. But it also reminds me that if I have scars it is only because I can heal. That's what you do, Hermione, you heal me. In ways I never knew were possible. You are always there, quietly putting your laughter and your smiles right on the deepest scars. The ones no one sees but you."

"Do you want to know why it took me so long to realize my feelings for you?" Harry asked.

"It did take you an awfully long time…" murmured Hermione.

"But only because you were my best friend, you were so close, so much a part of me that I began to think things had always been that way and always could be."

"I am glad you finally woke up and realized, Harry."

"I'm glad Ron and I had that fight about you."

A long silence ensued. Each was lost in the silence and the warmth they each created for the other.

Hermione finally broke the silence, "Harry, promise me something."

"Anything," said Harry without hesitation.

"Let's always be like this, let's always make memories like this one."

Harry sighed deeply but said nothing.

"Harry, did you hear me?"

"Yes, I am just sad at the thought that this perfect moment is already just another memory. Time goes by so quickly, I feel it slipping through my fingers."

"That's all we can do, Harry; create new memories, happy ones."

"I don't want to make them with anyone else but you, Hermione. The world sees my scars, but when I'm with you they just fade away, even the ones in my heart and in my mind."

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too, Hermione."

The silence once again took over the cozy room. Through the window, the pale moonlight was giving way to the brilliant, golden rays of a new day as it traced its way through the sky. It was the beginning of a new day; a new opportunity was born on the wings of dawn slowly banishing the darkness that was now nothing more than a memory.

_Editor's Note:_

_I must credit not only JKR but my favorite author, Isabel Allende for weaving a tale that touched my soul. Her novels are story telling at its best. From her I got the lines about the woman who gives her past away to the man she loves. Also, the line about "dragging his soul behind him" is from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Memoria de mis p tristes" which I read in a day because it was so good._


End file.
